


keep a place for me

by labeledbones



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 12:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labeledbones/pseuds/labeledbones
Summary: “Come on,” Armie says. “Are you watching porn or something?”Timmy laughs. “You wish.” And then, reluctantly, he shows Armie his screen. He’s got a clip from their Ellen interview pulled up on YouTube. Armie can see his cheeks flush even in the dark. “I’m so bad at this stuff,” he says, pulling the phone back and putting it to sleep.Armie and Timmy in L.A. after their Ellen interview, because apparently all I want to do is write random reaction fic to everything they do every day.





	keep a place for me

**Author's Note:**

> This is not necessarily set in the same universe as my previous fic, since here they are clearly not sticking to the no kissing thing. :) :)
> 
> Title is from "Self Control" by Frank Ocean
> 
> General RPF disclaimer: fictional blah blah, I don't even know if the Hammer house has a pool or not, so.

Timmy is hunched over his phone, headphones in, sitting by the pool, when Armie finds him. He stands a little bit away from him for a minute watching the pool water’s reflection bounce around Timmy’s face as he stares at his screen. He’s wearing the hoodie Armie had been wearing earlier that he’d left on one of the pool chairs, sleeves too long and covering Timmy’s hands, the hood swallowing him except for the wild curls that manage to escape. 

Armie walks over and sits down in the chair next to him, startling Timmy and making him jump, almost throw his phone right into the pool. “Whatcha watching?” Armie asks, grinning. 

Timmy turns to him, pulling the hood back from his head. Armie reaches out and rearranges the mess of curls it leaves behind. 

Timmy hasn’t answered his question so he leans over, trying to get a glimpse of Timmy’s phone. Timmy moves the phone out of his view. “Come on,” Armie says. “Are you watching porn or something?” 

Timmy laughs. “You wish.” And then, reluctantly, he shows Armie his screen. He’s got a clip from their Ellen interview pulled up on YouTube. Armie can see his cheeks flush even in the dark. “I’m so bad at this stuff,” he says, pulling the phone back and putting it to sleep. 

“You’ll get better,” Armie says, his hand patting Timmy’s thigh and then staying there. “Anyway, it’s endearing.” His hand move back and forth against Timmy’s leg and Timmy reaches down to still it. 

“Fuck endearing,” he says, bitter but laughing. He gets out of his chair suddenly and before Armie can react Timmy’s in his lap, straddling him, his hands pulling gently at his hair. “And the bullshit about me being straight,” he says. 

Armie’s hands are on Timmy’s back, feeling the angles of his shoulder blades through the sweatshirt. He leans forward to smell his own scent mixed with Timmy’s skin, pressing his face into the sweatshirt’s collar. “Yeah,” he says into the fabric. “People are really calling that one wrong.” His teeth come out and nip at Timmy’s neck just briefly before he sits back again to look up at Timmy’s face. 

“I never now what I’m supposed to say to that.” He’s pulling not very gently now on the little bits of chest hair spilling out of Armie’s t-shirt. “Because I’m not- You know, it’s not one thing or the other and I don’t even understand it yet.” 

Armie tilts his head back, listening to Timmy, but also marveling at the switch in position here, Timmy’s mouth being something he has to reach up to. Which he does, kissing him, trying to be gentle, but Timmy instantly turns aggressive, demanding. It’s a product of them never having enough time, this fevered way Timmy goes after his mouth. 

Armie puts his hands on Timmy’s waist, feels how he can almost get his hands around his entire body. He presses against his skin with his thumbs trying to slow him down a little. Right now, they have time. Eventually Timmy’s mouth starts to move languidly against his, and then it’s just the sound of their mouths and the water in the pool sloshing around in the breeze. 

Timmy stops, pulls back. “It’s none of anyone’s fucking business, you know?” 

Armie laughs. “So tell them that,” he says. 

Timmy sighs and sits back on Armie’s legs, his hands slipping under the hem of Armie’s shirt. “I shouldn’t have to. It shouldn’t even come up. Especially with this project being about what it’s about, sexuality as a continuum, desire as something mutable.” 

“Say ‘continuum’ again,” Armie teases, his mouth at Timmy’s throat. 

Timmy’s limbs loosen and he falls into Armie, saying, “Continuum continuum continuum,” and kissing him. 

Eventually the need to breathe outweighs the need to always be kissing Timmy and Armie gently pushes him back. Timmy looks at him, an obnoxiously coy half smile on his lip, his eyelids heavy, hair hanging around his face, knowing he’s in complete control of Armie right now.

“Listen, Timmy,” he says, sitting up a little straighter so their faces are on the same level. “Be whatever you want, whoever you want. If you want to share that, then go ahead. But you don’t owe people anything.” 

Timmy drops his head against Armie’s shoulder. “You’re right,” he says against Armie’s skin. “I’m just tired of people assuming they know me.” 

Armie moves his hands up and down Timmy’s back. “You’re in for a lot of that, I’m afraid,” he says gently. He can feel Timmy’s eyelashes flutter against his throat, something so soft and so intimate that he feels his throat tighten. His arms go around Timmy, feeling a desperate need to protect him from the entire world. He knows he can’t and that it’s not his job, but sometimes he thinks if he can just hold him for long enough — 

“My manager is pissed at me for once again not using the hotel room booked for me,” Timmy says after a while. 

“But you have a home here already." His face is buried in Timmy’s hair, that scent so particular to Timmy, mint and citrus and smoke. 

Timmy’s mouth presses a few brief kisses along Armie’s collarbone. “Do I?” he asks, his voice faint, unsure even after all the nights he’s spent here. 

“Seriously?” Armie asks. He forces Timmy to sit back and look at him. “Yes. Always. I thought you knew that by now.” 

Timmy shrugs, “Sometimes I wonder if it’s just temporary.” He rubs at his face with the over long cuff of Armie’s sweatshirt, not crying but clearly fighting it. “Like, someday Liz will, justifiably, want you to herself and ask me to leave. Or someday you’ll just want to be with your family and won’t have the heart to tell me to go.” 

Armie shakes his head, takes Timmy’s hand from his face and kisses his palm through the worn cotton. “Never,” he says simply. “Never, ever, ever,” he keeps saying, bring Timmy’s face down to his, kissing him. 

“Even after all this is over?” Timmy asks barely pulling his mouth away from Armie’s. 

“After all what is over?” Armie chases Timmy’s mouth. 

“The press, the awards,” Timmy kisses him in between words. 

“Does this feel like something that will just stop?” Armie asks. 

Timmy just looks at him, his lips wet and pink and slightly parted, his eyes open and questioning. Armie laughs a little, shocked they’re having this particular conversation. He kisses Timmy once more, firmly, soundly. “If I haven’t been clear with you, then let me be clear now: I’m not letting you go.”  
Timmy smiles then, wags his head side to side, “Okay, okay, don’t go soft on me, Armand.” 

Armie pinches Timmy’s sides, uses his teeth on the skin just under his jaw. “Don’t call me Armand. I will throw you into the pool.” 

Timmy laughs loudly and it echoes through the yard. Armie joins him, laughing against his throat, thinking they’re going to wake up everyone in the house, wake up the entire universe.


End file.
